


Running mates

by id_ten_it



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Divorce, M/M, Mycroft Holmes Has Feelings, Mystrade Monday, Running
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:13:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27587285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/id_ten_it/pseuds/id_ten_it
Summary: For the Mystrade Monday prompt "Please stay with me"Greg's had a tough year or so what with getting divorced and dealing with work. Mycroft has just been waiting for the right someone to question his need to plan.And Anthea? Anthea is just an innocent bystander.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Kudos: 43





	Running mates

**Author's Note:**

> I am low-key very proud of the punny title. You're all welcome.

When it happens, it happens in a rush. Greg has always been impetuous in his personal life, charging eagerly into new things without worrying overly much. He assumes Mycroft is the complete opposite – his childhood was hardly carefree, his work is his life and one false word at a meeting can have catastrophic consequences. Mycroft never does anything to correct this assumption until one summer morning when dawn is creeping up the Shard and Greg is wondering if he can take the afternoon off given the early start.

If this were a television show there’d be a mystery body between them, cigarettes, drizzle, looming bodyguards. But this is real life so Greg is taking a moment to stretch and appreciate the pink tendrils caressing the glass, watching for the moment when the blushing windows turn to flame-red, when there are muffled footfalls and a sleek black figure lopes into view. Behind him runs a compact woman apparently in no rush to pass, apparently listening to music in one ear. The sleek black man stops next to Greg, runs a hand over his high forehead, and nods. “Good Morning.” He is hardly out of breath.  
“Gidday. Couldn’t wait till tonight?”  
“How about you tell me now, Inspector. I doubt you’ll want to waste an early night on sitting up talking about my brother.”  
“Anyone mentioned you’re a genius?” Greg tells him, agrees a system of restocking Sherlock’s woeful pantry, and finds himself still with dinner plans that night, promising not to worry if he ends up asleep instead. Mycroft listens, nods, curls one lip in pleasure, and is running off at the same easy lope once Greg is finished talking. The woman finishes stretching and sets off after him. She looks relaxed and meditative. Greg is sure she could detain him and protect Mycroft in three moves and probably still look immaculate. Maybe now he’s single he should take up running properly.

They do end up with dinner together, then drinks in wingback chairs, staring out over the city. Because Mycroft is a very good listener, because he himself has had a little more to drink, because there is finally space and time to process it, Greg tells Mycroft all about the last year or so, the dissolution of Mr and Mrs Lestrade to their constituent parts – neither the same whole person as when they became one – the adjustments, the realisation that the world is set up for couples. He asks Mycroft, because he is curious and brave and Mycroft is looking at him like he matters, how Mycroft manages this coupledom.  
“Not well” Mycroft admits, pulling a face and sipping Pimms.  
“No hope for me then” Greg rolls his eyes, “F’the smartest man in London can’t manage it.”  
“Book smart and emotional intelligence are not the same thing” Mycroft murmurs, downing his drink in one fatalistic gulp and looking down into the dangling glass like there may be answers there. “Perhaps a more emotionally astute person would be more successful. Less…icy.”  
Greg laughs dutifully at the allusion to Mycroft’s nickname, pours them both drinks, downs his, spies a couple strolling along the street, and is suddenly Not Okay. Later he has no idea when exactly the tears start, but Mycroft is sure they start Before.  
Mycroft, seeing a visibly distressed, vulnerable, friend, draws the still standing friend towards him. He ponders standing but Greg is clearly in need of a cathartic hug, so he remains seated and arranges Greg half on the chair and half on him. Mycroft sits, and rubs Greg’s back, and projects calm and an abundance of time. Greg feels a weight he never remembered shouldering slip from his shoulders. In a rush, he realises this is the feeling he missed. This is the person he wants. “Please” he whispers, and senses Mycroft drawing closer to listen, “please stay with me?”  
“As long as you like” Mycroft soothes, plucking up a napkin for Greg to clean his face with. Greg – who has suppressed most of his tears and thus escaped a blotchy face – smiles weakly. “I think I’d like it to be a good long while. I’m sorry. I know it’s sudden. I didn’t-“  
Mycroft smiles weakly back. “It’s terribly sudden. You’ve been edging around it for _years_ Gregory.” Then they are both laughing, and hugging, and Greg wonders if he is impetuous enough to suggest a kiss but Mycroft is already offering him one, charging in with apparently no concerns; Greg looks forward to challenging more assumptions in the future.


End file.
